


Five, Six, Seven, Eight-

by RamenShop



Category: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Brotherly Bonding, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Gen, If you've been wondering why i havent been updating my longfic. uh. yeah, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Linked Universe (Legend of Zelda), One Shot Collection, Parent Time (Linked Universe), Team as Family, i know that sounds weird but trust me - Freeform, not in the serious way, rather an attempt at angst on the second one only
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-03
Updated: 2020-12-03
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:46:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27864034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RamenShop/pseuds/RamenShop
Summary: A couple of one shots I've been working on in my free time! Only five for now, might add more if I feel up to it!The Links have grown to care about each other, no matter how much they don't want to admit it. No matter what happens, they'll want to stay be each other's side.
Relationships: Four & Hyrule & Legend & Sky & Time & Twilight & Warriors & Wild & Wind (Linked Universe), Four (Linked Universe) & Shadow Link, Link & Shadow Link, Shadow Link & Vio Link, Time & Twilight (Linked Universe), Time & Wild (Linked Universe), Warriors & Wild (Linked Universe)
Comments: 20
Kudos: 139





	1. The First Hero

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> can we please get first his own character tag?

First joined their party long after their adventure began, when the Links were almost certain that their group was completed. It had started with Sky, Time, and Warriors, who all found each other by stepping through portals at once. Then, the three of them traveled until they found Four, and later Wind. The sixth was the Ordonian, Twilight, with Hyrule and Legend a month after. Not even two weeks later, and their party found Wild. 

Almost five months later, they found a humble cottage on a large, empty field of the surface, alone on the ground despite the silhouette of Skyloft hanging above them. They found First, a young man dressed in armor and a crimson scarf, with kind yet hesitant eyes. There had been a significantly longer gap between meetings than what they were used to. Almost as if they weren’t meant to meet First to begin with. Almost as if something changed in the enemy’s plans that made the goddesses send them extra help. Something that meant a party of nine heroes would no longer be enough. 

None of them wanted to think about the threat ahead of them, and focusing on the what-ifs of their adventure would lead them nowhere. So instead, they focused on First.

Their new brother and addition to the group. The boys all wanted to learn more about him, but Sky in particular was _ecstatic,_ for First was Sky’s one and only predecessor. And in learning more about him, Sky learned how to worry. 

He’d come to learn that First’s eyes always seemed a little bit tired, a little bit sad. His features rested into a longing look without meaning to, even when relaxed or asleep. First always looked just slightly down, as if his body was so used to the feeling of misery, it had become second-nature to embrace it. First wasn’t tremendously old, perhaps a little older than the Captain, but nowhere near the Old Man. So what reason did he have to be this familiar with sorrow?

First had also told the group that he could not run, at least not for long. He’d explained, rather vaguely, that his body had lost quite a bit of strength. He seemed to also be unable to eat in large quantities too, and often rolled his wrists in pain.

But despite First’s more worrying behaviors and habits, even those that did not go unnoticed by the group, many of the boys in the party still couldn’t help but follow his every move. He was the very first hero, after all. Everyone had something to learn from him. More often than not, Sky would find himself unconsciously tailing his movements with the others. It made him feel silly, like a baby remlit following after his mama. It seemed to come naturally to him though, to simply step into the safety of First’s shadow and trust the other to keep him safe while his head was stuck in the clouds. 

The two of them would sit shoulder to shoulder at their late-night campfires, Sky carving away at a chunk of wood, unsure of where the shapes were going. First was pretty quiet during late-night conversations. In fact, he hardly seemed to pay attention. The others would rattle off excitedly about their adventures, while First absent-mindedly toyed with the shredded skin Sky left behind. The others, however, were more chatty around each other than anyone else. Earlier in the adventure, the others had gotten into the routine of answering nine questions during and after dinner time, as a means to get to know each other better. Each person got to ask one. After First joined their group, the little game had started once again, with one more question asker added to the list.

They’d gone around already, asking questions from simple to odd. _Have you ever had to shield surf for a quest? What’s the grossest thing you’ve had to eat in your adventure? Do you have a Tingle?_

When it was time for the last question, all eyes turned to First.

To his credit, the man’s stiffness would have been perfectly hidden in the eyes of any normal man. Not those of his descendants, however. They knew each other’s quirks almost as well as their own, and First perfectly reflected all of them. The way First’s eyes darted to everyone’s faces almost too quickly to notice was all Warriors. The way he shifted his knees to discreetly hide just a little more of himself was all Wild. The tapping on his fingers on the hilt of his sword had Sky written all over it.

To any normal man, First was the image of tranquility. To any Link, he was the image of discomfort.

Hylia’s Lion cleared his throat before speaking. “I’ve been meaning to ask you all… about your homes. Your place of origin, maybe, or where you are living now, as well as any spouses you may have.”  
  
Eyebrows were immediately raised all around camp, with Time and Sky both leaning forward in piqued interest, the latter temporarily placing his carving knife on the ground. The two of them did not expect quiet, withdrawn and inexpressive First to be the one to bring up the topic of romance.

“I am sure you have all already discussed this with each other,” First continued, and nodded in Time’s direction across the fireplace. “But I noticed one of you carries an engagement ring, and I became curious. Who are you wedded to, Time? Do you live with them?”

“I do,” Time answered, with one of those rare, kind smiles he aimed only at his family. 

Legend snorted, and turned to First with a smirk. “Trust me, bud, you do _not_ want to get this guy started on his-“

“My wife’s name is Malon!” Time interrupted, a loud and boisterous look to him, accompanied with a mischievous grin. Legend stuck his tongue out at him. “She is the most beautiful, most hardworking woman I have ever met, and I am truly unworthy of her affections!”

He continued in a more normal voice, then, though he relished in the eyerolls and the groans he received. “Her and I live in her father’s ranch, on the outskirts of town. It’s quite a plot of land, with plenty of cattle and cuckoos, and a stable for our horses.”

First nodded, giving Time his undivided attention. The Hero of Time had taken off his armor, and was in a mere undershirt, while Hylia’s chosen was still in knight’s uniform and armed. In that sense, it was almost comical the way a sprym, young man whose presence gave up so much authority had his eyes trained admiringly on an old farmer leaned back on a log. 

“My original home was the forest,” Time continued. “I was raised by a tree.”

First blinked. “Pardon?”

Time didn’t elaborate, smiling lazily. Twilight put his head in his hands and groaned.

Seeing First’s confused and dismayed expression, Sky shuffled just a bit closer to him and placed a hand on his shoulder. First smiled.

Taking the ensuing silence as permission to keep going, First turned to the group. “Anyone else?”

Wild raised his hand like a child at a show and tell. 

“I don’t, uh, remember my biological family,” Wild began with a nervous grin. He gestured vaguely to the top of his head, “Because, um. Y’know.”  
  
First nodded. He’d already been filled in on Wild’s amnesia.

“But right now, I live in Hateno Village. The people there are my family, I suppose,” He continued. His eyes softened fondly. “My Zelda mostly stays in a laboratory nearby, but she visits a lot. She’s like my roommate, my… home.”

_Home_. Sky didn’t miss the way First mouthed the word to himself, over and over and over again.

Twilight let a loud _aww_ escape him, wrapping an arm around his cub and squeezing. The rest of the camp either groaned or cooed to their heart’s content. Wind, who was sitting snugly between Warriors and Time, pretended to gag until he ran out of breath. Wild stuck his tongue out at them, and grumpily hid his blush in his hood.

Twilight took it from there. “My home is in Ordon Village. I was orphaned when I was little, and was adopted at around six or seven years of age. My father’s name is Rusl, my ma is Uli, and I have two siblings. My little brother is named Colin, and my baby sister Aria. I live by myself on the outskirts of town.”

“No spouse?”  
  
Twilight paused. “No spouse.”

First nodded, free of judgement, and Twilight relaxed just a little. 

Sky piped up, “I don’t have a spouse, but I have a girlfriend!”  
  


“ _We know_ ,” The camp- and to Sky’s horror, First- chorused. Sky felt a blush creep up his neck, and sat back with an uncharacteristically angry huff. Gently, his predecessor laid a hand on his knee and said, “You can tell me all about her and Skyloft in our own time, okay? I’ve always wondered about the life Hylia protected after the war.”  
  
In typical First fashion, he only seemed mildly miffed about being left behind and abandoned on Demise’s battlefield. He made no snide comment or bitter remark, with eyes actually growing fond at the thought of meeting the new generation. Sky leaned against his side and made himself comfortable. “I’ll tell you all about it, then. Promise.”

Sky scanned the camp for his next Link to take the podium, until his eyes landed on Warriors. He made an encouraging gesture, and the Captain sighed dramatically before speaking. 

“I’m the son of the Royal Seamstress,” Warriors began, prompting Wind to _ooooh_ ~ excitedly. “I grew up in the city, just outside the castle. I have a twin sister, Linkel, who now lives with my grandmother on the outskirts of Hyrule Field.”

After a moment of hesitation, he added, “My parents are divorced.”

Once again, First simply nods at attention. No further prompting is necessary for Wind to speak of next, excitedly chattering away about his sister and his grandma. About Linebeck, Tetra and Medli, Ciela, Lief and Neri. After him goes Hyrule, who briefly mentions how he grew up mostly alone, and mentions the village people who looked after him when they had the chance. 

“I’m a quadruplet, actually,” Four said when it was his turn. “One of four.”

“I don’t believe it,” said Warriors crossing his arms. “We’ve visited your Hyrule plenty of times and never seen them.”

“Maybe they just don’t wanna be seen,” Four replied with a smirk.

Warriors went to report, but Time raised a hand to stop him. His eye clearly said, _it’s far too late for arguments._ Warriors sat back with a huff, and turned to Legend. “It’s Pinky’s turn anyway.”  
  
“My hair is not even pink anymore,” Legend grumbled. “And you all know I don’t have a family. My uncle raised me, but he’s dead and gone. The Royal Family doesn’t recognize me as the Princess’s brother. I travel a lot, so I have no home to speak of.”

The veteran crossed his arms, expecting that to be the end of it, until Hyrule piped up and said, “Ravio’s gonna be very sad I tell him you said that.”

Legend jolted, alarmed, “Y- Why would you tell him?!”

“You didn’t even _mention_ him, Pinky!” Warriors said, holding back a wheeze at the veteran’s pale expression. “He’ll be so offended!”

“He’s my quest companion! None of you mentioned yours! Imagine how sad he’ll be when _I_ tell him _you_ didn’t mention him, Mr. Captain H-”

“My sincerest apologies for the interruption, but who is this… _Ravio_ you are all acquainted to?”

The words were spoken so softly, yet many heads turned in alarm. Almost everyone had forgotten First was even there, despite the hero being the one to pose the question. Even Sky, in his sleepy haze, had forgotten that the warmth he was leaning against was not, in fact, a comfortable couch, but rather his one and only predecessor. The chunk of wood in his hand had been successfully carved into a long-beaked Loftwing, one of Sky’s recurring shapes. 

As First looked at Legend, his eyes had receded from something neutral yet focused into that slightly downcast look. Though perhaps… it is a little more prominent now. More noticeable, or deliberate than before. 

Either way, the Veteran looked uncomfortable under it.

“He’s my roommate,” Legend was quick to fill in. “The other’s met him when we visited my world. You’ll, uh, probably meet him soon. Hopefully.”

“Is he part of your family then?” He said. There’s hope in his words, and was that look… had he been worried about Legend, when he said he had no family? Was Sky reading too much into his gaze?

Legend, pale and flushed in mortification, is left to quietly squeak out a response. “ _I guess_ . I guess he is, okay? I _guess_.”

  
  
“Oh,” First said, voice surprisingly small. “Oh, that’s… wonderful…”

His worried, sorrowful gaze softens. He continued, a smile growing, “All of you are so wonderful...”  
  
Worried glances were thrown around the camp, but none of them said anything. Where the sudden surge of emotion was coming from, they had no idea, and the shared distress at the situation was nearly palpable.

  
Thankfully, First spoke up before any of them could embarrass themselves with an attempt at comfort. 

“Apologies, I can not help being overwhelmed,” He explained. His cheeks, for just a moment, appeared red-tinged before they settled. “I simply never thought… I never thought I could ever live a life outside of serving. Turns out… I’ll get to live nine, through all of you. Nine lovable successors, living a life fulfilled. All of you are so _wonderful._ ”

Roses bloom around the camp in an instant. Sky brings his hands to his blushing cheeks, mouth agape and a little speechless. Wonderful? First thinks they are wonderful? Why, because of the answers they gave him? What they described though, it was so… mundane. Their answers were, objectively speaking, the easiest part of their lives to write off as unimportant. And yet, First seemed so moved by them. Moved by the fact that all get to have a home.

It warmed Sky’s heart in a way he never knew possible.

Which is why he almost kicks himself in the face for asking the next question.

  
  


“First are you… saying you’ve never had a family? Before _or_ after your quest?”

To his horror, First nods. He doesn’t look even slightly pained. He looked simply resigned.

“No spouse, no… parents, or siblings,” First explained. “I was raised by monks to be the Goddess’s knight. I hardly knew their names. And now… everyone is in Skyloft. They think me dead.”

“Too bad for them,” Time said without missing a beat. “They have no idea what an amazing brother they left behind.”

It took a second for the words to settle in. But, when First’s cheeks grew red as his scarf, it was clear he knew they were talking about him. 

Sky reached forward, and wrapped his arms around his brother, squeezing him with affection. Wind stands up, and goes around a campfire to join the hug. Legend affectionately bumps a fist into his shoulder. Together, they helped him answer the question.

“Time’s right. You were raised by monks to be Hylia’s Knigh, yeah. You served, and fought, and lived and died. But now you have nine brothers guarding your back, and nine lives ahead of you.”

With the strength of Hylia’s Lion, their brother hugged them back.


	2. The Korok

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> During his quest, he’d gone out of his way to recover as much of his past lives’ alleged belonging as he could. Helmets, armors, and tunics. They’d been a great comfort to him back then. The knowledge that heroes built like him, young like him and scared like him had survived terrible hardships had pushed him towards his second chance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one has the least amount of editing put in, sorry in advance kdjfsdf.
> 
> I wanted to make a one-shot centered on Warriors since he’s easily in my top three favorite Links, but I find him so hard to write I fell back on good ol’ Wild to talk about him. It’s easy to ramble about how much you love a character from the perspective of another character, I suppose, and writing Wild is always a treat
> 
> But anywho, Hero of Warriors tunic for Botw2

Most of the memories Wild had recovered from life before the Calamity were utterly unwelcome.

  
When he thinks back to the life he led before the Calamity, all he can really see is his own misery. He sees himself, shackled by duty and expectations from people he doesn’t remember. He hardly smiled. The rare moments when Wild did see his own grins, however fleeting, would be crushed by the present day reality of how that boy is gone, along with everything he stood for.

His attempts to steer clear of places that would remind him of his past would ultimately prove fruitless. It didn’t mean he didn’t try to steer clear of that boogieman. 

The tingling he felt in his hands when he entered Lon-Lon ranch, for one, terrified him. He loved Time, he loved Malon and he loved Twilight. He did not want to be familiar with their home. Any nostalgia he felt towards it spoke of disaster, the end to their bloodline at the hands of Calamity Ganon. He loved Time, Malon and Twi. What would he do if his memories whispered testimony of what he most feared? How could he possibly live with himself if they told him he’d killed their future family? How could he dare to seek shelter with them, to hug them, to be around them ever again? He’d rather sleep outside the ranch, surrounded by black blooded monsters, than risk remembering his failure towards them. It was horribly, terribly selfish, but it was the truth.

But of course, there were exceptions. Memories that, though unasked for, were welcome anyway.

Memories of his time with the Champions, Impa or Zelda were to be cherished. They’d forgiven his failures, so he felt it was only right that he paid them back by immortalizing their successes. Every trick of Revali’s, every life saved by Mipha, those were quickly relaid back to their descendants, so their memories may always prevail. Those were six types of memories he’d welcome despite the pain. His few, yet treasured exceptions.

Among those exceptions, he found memory of a shiny green tunic and bright blue scarf to be cherished as well.

During his quest, he’d gone out of his way to recover as much of his past lives’ alleged belonging as he could. Helmets, armors, and tunics. They’d been a great comfort to him back then. The knowledge that heroes built like him, young like him and scared like him had survived terrible hardships had pushed him towards his second chance. Though, he was admittedly surprised at how many the bandit Misko had recovered from the depths of Hyrule Castle. Considering how little the other Links knew of each other's quests, he imagined the need to preserve ancient relics was something recent in history. Wild had figured Flora’s mother, or her grandmother, or her grandmother before that must have been a bit of history buff, if she went above and beyond to preserve them. 

When the memory of the green and the blue resurfaced, he’d thought it would be another quick find. Find the riddle, solve the puzzle, get the prize. But no matter how where he looked, he couldn’t get his hands on that particular tunic. He knew it existed, that was for sure. He remembered seeing it neatly folded, one hundred years ago. Where was it, then? Had Misko perhaps kept it to themselves, instead of sharing the treasure? Had another looter gotten to it first? Had it perhaps been preserved outside of Hyrule Castle? Maybe it was hidden, yes, but in the warrior hero’s home. Maybe it was never meant to be found.

Perhaps, the story of this hero was simply meant to be another memory he’d forgotten. After searching and searching to no avail, Wild had arrived to that conclusion, and slowly began resigning himself to fate. 

  
Until he met the man himself.

Meeting the original owners of the tunics he collected had sent Wild into a bit of a panic when he first met them. His feelings of inadequacy plagued him for the first few weeks of traveling, irrationally terrified that his ancestors- the people he looked up to and found comfort in- wanted to see his old self when they looked at him. That, by being himself, they’d be disappointed, even if they had no basis for those expectations. Twilight and the others were great help in rubbing the fear off, thankfully. He had already gotten used to being the Hero of the Wilds around them.

Even his mystery hero.

Finally, finally learning about the Hero of Warriors was relieving in a different kind of way. He hoped he hid his giddiness well when the hero discussed his travels, though ever since he stepped out of the shrine of resurrection, Wild has had a terribly hard time hiding his feelings. _Your eyes give you away every time, Cub_ , Twilight fondly told him once. Wild had kicked him.

Warriors provided a reasonable explanation for Wild’s item collection. They weren’t preserved because an unknown queen became an obsessive history buff. Rather, they were gifts and treasures given to Hyrule by their allies in the war of eras. Warriors had been to so many places, met so many people, and his soldiers brought their souvenirs back with him.

Did that make Warriors his direct predecessor? It would make sense, in a way. It’d explain why the tunic he’d been shown before the Calamity was so safely hidden- the memory of the hero who wore it was too fresh, and was therefore granted greater protection and honor. Atleast, he hoped so. It meant Wild still had a chance of finding it again some day.

Wild adored listening to the other’s stories, and thankfully, he often got the chance. The Captain’s were still his favorites, but he still loved to hear the story behind the usurper king’s helmet stored away in his slate, or of merchant hood he’d left at the bottom of his bag. Not everyone was comfortable with sharing their adventures in detail, but fun tidbits like that often weaved their ways into conversation. The group had quickly become thick as thieves. They’d come up with games to play together in their travels, if only to boost morale and pass the time.

They had been playing a game of charades once, safe in a nearby inn of Twi’s Hyrule. Chaos fell upon them when Wild mimed a hinox- by covering one eye, stumping his foot in anger and attempting to appear taller- and Twilight tactfully guessed _Time after the Like-Like incident._ In the screaming match that followed, Wild made sure to slip away as quickly and sneakily as possible.

He slipped out the room and made his way down the stairs, into the neat and cozy lobby of the inn. They had wooden tables and decorations for guests, pinks and greys in every pillow and flower in the room. Leaning forward towards the largest waiting table was none other than the Captain himself.

“Warriors?”  
  
The other grinned at him, “Hey Wild. Got bored of playing?  
  
“No, not... really,” Wild said, smiling nervously before switching the subject together. “What’s all this?”  
  
Warriors’s scarf was laid out neatly like a tablecloth, the tip of it grasped firmly in the Captain’s hands. Underneath the chair where the man was sitting to him was a near-empty black kit, one Wild recalls the Captain would always open and shut rather quickly, before grabbing the emergency one as replacement. He’d never actually seen what was inside it, he just assumed they were both for first-aid with different content in them. But the items laid out on the table did not match that description. A needle threader, plus some hand-sewing needles, a couple of sew-on patches, rolls of thread. The captain had a thimble on his thumb. Was that an embroidery circle?

“I’m fixing my scarf. It was slashed through by a lizalfos,” The Captain answered. He raised his hand to show off the blue thread hanging off the needle. “No matter. I know how to fix it.”

  
  


Wild’s eyes widened, and he eagerly sat across the Captain to watch him work. 

“You know how to sew? That’s so cool!” Wild reached into his bag and began to rummage through it, until he found what he was looking for. “Could you help me fix my hood? I got it stuck in some branches, and, well...”  
  
He handed Warriors the hood, who inspected the rather large tear with an expert’s eye. His fingers brushed around the edges, careful not to make the damage worse. Wild will admit, it was a rather large hole. He suspects it used to be something less noticeable that got stuck in the branch, and that’s why it got as large as it did. It was about as large as perhaps Wind’s hand. Thankfully it was down the perfectly blank bottom, with no tears on the embroidery in the middle or the edges. 

The Captain bit his lip, for a moment, then reached into his sewing kit.  
  
“I’m afraid this may be too large to simply sew together, Wild,” He said apologetically, but before Wild could feel disheartened, he reached over and handed him some cloth samples of different colors. “If you want I could patch it in black, or do some applique patching instead?”  
  
“What’s applique patching?” Wild asked, eyes hide as he looked through the many patterns. He shifted to sit cross-legged on the chair, though the armrests dug into his knees. Wild didn’t know anything about sewing, but to him, _applique patching_ were the words of a pro.

“It’s essentially using different fabric patches and sewing them into decorative shapes,” The Captain explained. Yup, the words of a pro, Wild had no doubt about it. “I could make flowers, roses, bird or-”  
  
“Can you make a Korok?” Wild asked excitedly, shoving the green and grey fabrics back into Warriors’s hands. The captain snorted, but nodded. “Yes, I can make a Korok.”

Wild grinned and cheered, and Warriors took that as his queue to get to work.

His skilled hands worked quickly, precisely, effectively. He worked with the same scary focus he carried in battle, his face set and pinched in dissonance with his usual laid back stare. The gaze of a tin soldier, firm and steady. For a moment, Wild wondered if they had that in common. What does Warriors see when he looks at Wild? The question makes his nails dig into the wood of the armrests. He lowers one foot to the ground, toeing at the edge of the pink woolen carpet.  
  


Warriors knows about the Calamity, the failures. Wild told him himself. Not once has he said anything to imply resentment or contempt. The reality is that Warriors, for as much as he claims to hate traitors and villains, is a forgiving person to those who deserve it. Wild doubts Warriors would ever see him as anything but a worthy descendant, no matter how untrue the statement is. It makes him wilt and glow with joy at once.

Wild’s foot dug a little too deep, the carpet folding over it while the chair scraped back. The Captain didn’t startle at the sound.

Wild supposes that, out of all the predecessors and Captains he could have had, he’s lucky to be placed under one so kind. The thought brings a smile to his face. Warriors has never once reminded him of his cold, lonely past. He supposed it’s because his superiors back then were anything but affectionate and accepting. They definitely wouldn’t take the time out of their day to sew koroks into his hood.

Speaking of which-

“I’m done!” The Captain announced. Wild jumped in his seat, once again scraping the chair back.

He hadn’t zoned out for that long, had he? Then again, he can’t recall exactly when he descended the stairs, but now the pale orange of the sunset was spilling in through the windows. Had the others finished playing charades without him?

  
Seeing his disbelief, Warriors laughed. “I work fast, okay? I’ve been doing this since I was very little.”

  
  
He quickly gathered his discarded scarf, placing it in his lap before handing Wild the hood back. “Do you like it?”

  
  
Wild wasn't sure how to say _absolutely, yes!_

His hands traced the patch on the Hylian Hood with great care, cherishing every single bump. The shape is impeccable, so much so Wild would have thought Warriors had used a korok model if he didn’t know better. The eyes are upturned in a smile like Pepp’s, with the mouth a surprised little _oh_. The color is a bright green similar to Kula’s, sunny against the dark hood. The Korok is taking a step, left arm half-raised as if reaching out. As if it were dancing.

Wild didn’t know it was possible to smile this wide.

“Captain, I… I love it. Thank you”

“I’m always happy to help, Champion."


	3. The Viking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The son of Thor had been in Hotel Valhalla long enough to be the butt of almost every divine joke in the book.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Magnus Chase au, though honestly I have not read Magnus Chase in a long, long time, so I don't know how accurate it is to the books. Cause of the nature of the au, there's mentions of injury and death, but they're not graphic or even taken all that seriously.

The son of Thor had been in Hotel Valhalla long enough to be the butt of almost every divine joke in the book. 

He remembers the day he arrived at his own little hallway on floor 56, eye bright with the joy of any Viking who has reached the most honorable of ends. He watched the wooden frames with fascination, the filthy, tree-patterned carpets stained with the blood of a thousand immortals. The eye he lost in battle was back, though a little different. It stayed stark-white, to allow him to display the barbarous fate he met, despite the fact that it should have all been wiped away. Zelda, his Valkyrie, said it was a gift only gods could grant. For he was now a son of Thor. Demigods were rare amongst their people, he’d heard, so he walked with pride knowing just how many warriors were now out for his head. 

He was so caught up in the overflowing pride in his chest, and the relief at his own end, he barely noticed the emptiness of the hall. The twenty foot walls that stretched to the ceiling made it all seem so grand. The torches lighting up the golden shields along the walls made it seem so divine. But the heavy echo of his footsteps in the endless hallway made it seem _empty_ . Why, in a place so infinite and loud, was Link presented with a desolate new home?  
  
The answer was simple; it was a setup. And soon came the punchline.

An eternity is an awfully long time to be alone in your room, regardless of whether or not it was hand-crafted by the gods to fit your standards of comfort. Link’s room was not particularly large, for he did not want it that way. His own door had been completely carved by hand, with a golden _Thurisaz_ proudly announcing to which god he belonged. Yet, on the inside the home was small, cozy, and _his_. It had smooth, wooden floorboards that never creaked. There was a window in his kitchen that inexplicably peered out into an endless forest of thick-barked pines and thorny bushes. He had shields displayed on his walls, replicas of those that belonged to the strongest Vikings he had ever fought alongside. Royal blue, fiery crimson, blinding gold. His bed was not too stiff or too soft, warm in his shape, decorated with a fluffy irish throw he would allow to tickle his features after long hours of training. 

It was the perfect place to eat, for he never stayed too long on the Feast Hall, since for him there was only an empty table for his empty floor. He let the einherjer have the rest of the meals he couldn’t eat himself. He’d sit and wait for the Valkyries to present their new einherjar, watched every videotaped death with the respect of a fellow soldier, and waved at Zelda on his way out. Then he’d eat cross-legged at the foot of his bed, instead of the table, and go to bed.

It was certainly not the worst place one could await Ragnarök in. Although, there was one thing he’d never understood about his room’s design. Not that he’d ever claim to know what the gods were thinking. Oftentimes they were indifferent, cold and some even malicious. They’d let him get beaten, attacked and chased all his childhood, and only claimed to love him by granting him scars in eternity. Some of that, atleast, he could understand. But no matter how much he racked his brain for an answer, he could not fathom why they’d granted him of all people a ten person table. 

It took up quite the lot of space. It was the first thing you saw when you entered the room, and the last thing you saw when you went to bed. The table’s wood was light, smooth, with the _Wunjo_ rune carved into a circle in its middle. It was the kind of table you would find at home replete with the sound of tiny footsteps and children’s laughter. Not the one you would find at a lonely Viking’s afterlife. Link had never gotten married, he’d never had children, or even parents to call his own. He didn’t even have people to share his floor.

So for a long time, he wondered. Why was it there? The Viking was not about to dwell on it, for wondering about the god’s taste in decour was a miserable way to pass the time. And in Valhalla, time was all he had. When he was not stuck in his lonely room, he was either training brutally with nameless heroes, or reading in the ever-expanding library. He’d learned language after language, code after code until his mind was numb from it. He’d also found a strange fascination with history books. Each day was a new one written, and each one he read. He’d hesitate to call them comforting, however. There was a heaviness that came with every turn of the page, as he saw the world leaving him behind with each passing chapter. Despite the claims of his Valkyrie on the day he arrived, he found himself and his death to be highly unremarkable in the grand scheme of history. Many books he found did not even mention Vikings, nor their battles or deaths. Before long, Link’s readings turned into quick skims, just long enough to find out what year it was before the book closed.

Despite the dreadful nature of his pastimes, Link never made any efforts to change then. He had never been too good at making friends, and now it felt like he’d lost his chance. He longed for the day he met more Vikings at his door, but all the recent einherjar had been so… different from himself. They spoke different, they _looked_ different, they dressed different. They were… odd. Or perhaps the son of Thor was just old. 

After all, the year was 1693 already, almost eight hundred years after the son of Thor died. He felt very old.

Though, his back did not hurt as he took his seat at the feast’s empty tables as an Old Man's should. His shoulders never ached, nor did his legs after being smacked with clubs and axes in training. Link quietly nodded at a few of the passing einherjer, one of which had eyes he recalled stabbing his sword into that very morning during training. The guy grinned at him and whispered to his comrade, about how amazing it was that the son of Thor had ended his life that same morning. His forehead was free of any trace of the Viking’s attack. 

As the Feast Hall of the Slain room roared on, the Valkyries began to line up at the end of the hall, the heroes whose souls they’d carried following closely behind. Floor 56 was rather lucky, for they (he) could look at the presentation without the obstruction of Eikthymir’s tree. As the hotel staff began speaking, the world fell into silence, awaiting the introduction of the heroes and their heroic deeds. The Valkyrie's stepped forward, but Zelda was not among them.

Today, there were only three einherjer standing, though the first was the one that caught Link’s eye. He was burly and hairy, with the posture of a soldier as he awaited introduction. If Link didn’t know better, he’d have confused him for a Viking. He and his Valkyrie stepped forwards, and rolled the tape. His _video_ (which was a kind of godly magic Link could never understand) showed him and another man dueling in the mountains. They both seemed to be remarkable swordsmen, moving swiftly without slipping on the fallen leaves. He died to defend his family’s honor, the Valkyrie claimed, and those words were enough for the einherjer to deem him a hero. At the end of the clip, he was beheaded by his enemy, and though his long beard covered his neck, Link knew he’d find no trace of the damage done to him now that he was in Valhalla.

The next man was impossibly taller than his companions, bone-thin with a shaved head. He’d died in a dungeon, tied to the rack and stretched out until his spine snapped at like a twig. Link grimaced at the way deaths seemed to get more creative through the years. The man’s fate could have perhaps been avoided, had he given away the location of his fellow traitors to the crown. But he did not say a word. The einherjer roared with approval, at a man who died with honor.

Then came a woman, blonde haired and broad-shouldered. She had a tight frown on her face, and glared when the feast hall got too rowdy. This one, the video explained, had died while defending her children from a foreign invader on their home. The invader had pushed her down the empty well on her front yard, and she died on impact once she reached the bottom. She was the last einherjar of the night.

Or so they thought.

At the end of the line, dwarfed by the sheer size of his companions, was a young man. A boy, even, dressed in a silky dress he kept fidgeting in. _A son of Loki_?, was Link’s first thought, and several einherjer mumbled the same question. Now that the rest of his companions had been welcomed into the hall, the boy was left standing alone in his Valkyrie's shadow, grimacing at the noise of the crowd. He was unimaginably small, lean and nervous when compared to all the beasts in the Feast Hall. His blue eyes were doe-like, his golden hair tied messily back. Link felt a lump in his throat, and the scar of his eye pulsed painfully. He died too young.

After a beat where the feast hall awaited, the Valkyrie stepped forward, surprisingly taking the boy by the hand. He walked, though nervous, into the light.

A sharp gasp silenced the room.

On the left side of his face, and stretched down the side of his neck, were burn marks .They stopped perfectly halfway through his face, with none spilling over to the right side. _Impossible_ burn marks, for more than one reason. Valhalla was made to fix all scars sported in death and even outside of it, but criss crossed on the boy’s cheek and ear, sharp flames dug deep into his skin. If the boy had any evidence of his death left on him, it was intentional. _A gift from the gods_. And before the Valkyrie could even speak the words, Link already knew which god had claimed him.

“This is Link. Son of Hel,” She spoke loud, too loud, for you could already hear a pin drop in the feast.

Behind her, Link son of Hel meekly waved.

“Because of his godly heritage, he was able to feel the threat of death approaching his family in the town of Salem. Thinking quickly, he made a plan for his little sister to escape the city, and as you can see on his clothing, he dressed the part and took her place in execution. He was burned to death at the stake. The mark he sports today on his left are a symbol of his selfless sacrifice-”

Link had heard enough.

He slipped away unnoticed into one of the thousand doors of the Hall. He walked through lounge after lounge, up to the elevator and into his room.

He was _seething_.

That boy was not a fighter. He did not raise a blade in a duel, or fight off an invador, or plan a coup against his king. He died quietly, he died _hiding_ , and he should have been allowed to rest. But as he made his way down his empty halls in rage, he knew why the boy had been forced through the entrance. _A son of Hel_ , she’d said, and that was all the reason needed. Demigods were rare to come by, even in Valhalla. Link himself had yet to meet any, in the hundreds of years he’d lived after death. So of course, the boy was recruited for Ragnarok. _He had no choice_ , the same way Link had none when he was first handed a two-sided axe.

As he stormed down the hall to his room, the very last one from the elevator, something gold cut it’s way through his vision of red. He turned, expecting an einherjar looking to catch a demigod off-guard, but the world stayed empty. Everything was still, quiet as he’d left it. He scanned each shield, each torch and door, until his eyes landed on- 

On the door right next time, front and right of Link’s. A golden _Hagalaz_. The tell-tale sign of the room having shifted, changed to lovingly warm its inhabitant . Link felt like he’d been punched.

His gaze dug holes into it, wishing Hel herself could feel it, feel his _lack of amusement_ at her little cosmic joke. After an eternity of empty halls, what do the gods do? Take a boy, an _omen of death n_ o less, and dump him at Link’s doorstep The son of Thor was not a babysitter, not even to his divine Nephew. He wasn’t a teacher, and no matter how much he tried, he could never teach a boy like the one in the hall how to fight. He doubted the boy in the dress was strong enough to even lift an axe above his head.. Not to mention-

  
  
  


“ _His name is Link, too_ ,” The Viking hissed. And the Gods laughed.


	4. The Shadow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Good riddance. He only just got back, and now he's going to force Vio to watch him die all over again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No actual character death happens here, it's open-ended. I couldn't bring myself to kill shadow even if I wanted to. So, uh. Here's a shitty attempt at angst, the shortest of the one shots for a reason.

He knew who he was looking at. Not Red, or Blue, or Green-  _ Link _ , all his parts together, standing above him with fear on his face. It was most likely Green’s sense of duty, or Red’s naïve need to look after everyone that has drawn Link’s eyebrows together in a pinched expression of panic and concern. But the way the fire danced in Link’s eyes, and his hair framed his face… Shadow couldn't stop himself from seeing the person he most wanted to see. 

Good riddance. He only just got back, and now he's going to force Vio to watch him die all over again.

Shadow blinked through all the fog in his brain. He mourned his lost strength, as he barely managed to rasp his words out. 

“Hey… Vio,” Shadow said, weakly reaching a hand out to cup Link’s face. Against his best efforts, his eyes began to close. “I’ve… missed you.”

“Shadow,” Link’s voice said hoarsely, and  _ wow _ , he does not sound like Vio at all. Vio’s voice was naturally soft and muted, even when overcome by emotion. This one was bright and fiery, like Blue, Green and Red. “Shadow, what  _ happened  _ to you?”

Where could he even begin? A strange figure, a twisting shade had pulled him away from his slumber, forced him out of his rest and dragged him into the light. Shadow had been too weak to see, too weak to take in the world around him. His form had crumbled in seconds, and not a moment later, he’d been found. The twisted shade  _ wanted _ him to be found. Why?

Shadow didn’t have an answer.

“Shadow- _ , _ ” The voice- but not  _ Vio’s  _ voice- continued, an edge to his voice as he approached Shadow’s fallen form. He kneeled. “Please. Who hurt you?  _ What _ hurt you? Please, tell me, I promise I’ll make it right.”

Shadow felt a hand pressing down on his stomach, over the leaking, aching black wound. It wasn’t blood, Shadow didn’t have any. It was Shadow’s form melting back to black, unable to remain physical much longer. Pressure wouldn’t help anything.

Vio would have known that. 

Through the fog and the haze, Shadow swatted the hands on him and groaned, “Vio.”

The hands persisted. 

“ _ Vio _ ...!” And another weak swat. 

“I’m not-”  _ Vio. He’s Link, Shadow, get it through your head. _

The other readjusted his grip on the shade, moving the hand on his wound to wrap around Shadow’s back, and moving the one previously holding him to cradle his head against his chest. Shadow didn’t realize he’d shut his eyes. He felt wetness in his cheeks, though it wasn’t raining. 

“This is a nightmare, right?” Link sobbed, tears falling on his double. “This isn’t real.”

_ Don’t cry, please, _ he wanted to say. Shadow cursed himself for making the other sad. He felt his closest friend’s chest break with hiccups, and it was all too familiar. 

But his closest friend was nothing if not resilient, and in his unfamiliar voice dripping with pain he said, “...You want to see Vio, right? I’ll- I’ll get you to him. Just-just hold on.”

Slowly, Shadow’s body was lowered into the ground, and the distress he felt at being abandoned was almost enough for him to melt through the floor completely. But before he could- a blinding light broke through the darkness of his eyelids, and he slowly blinked them open… only to come face to face with his favorite person. 

“Hey, Shadow,” Vio said softly, tears still streaming from his eyes. Behind him were Green, Blue and Red- all with gazes full of grief. Because Shadow was abandoning them again. “I’ve missed you, too.”


	5. The Rainy Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Almost every scar he sported had been earned in wolf form, hidden by his fur or the layers of clothing. No one could see them, and for that, he was very, very lucky. They wouldn’t worry about his aches, because to them, he had none to speak of. It meant he could look after the others, and they’d let him. At this point, Twilight was convinced that was why Hylia had sent him on this quest to begin with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Attempt at angst number two, this time with comfort.

The sight of cloudy, grey skies is far better at putting their little group on edge than most monsters.

For Twilight, he at least had a bit more of a warning than the others. The smell of rain would reach his nose and raise his hackles long before the clouds themselves came into view. He could usually wrangle the group into some kind of shelter before it starts to pour, handing out blankets, so the warmth can soothe the ache of their scars along with scarves, cloaks and pelts. His poor cub saves face for quite a while when the rain begins, but he always ends up curled up painfully on his side by the end of the day. The Captain gets antsy at the concept of battling in the rain, his burned sword arm aching as he moves. Time, ever the pillar of strength, continues to walk with his head high and a limp so imperceptible, you wouldn’t see it if you didn’t know exactly where to look.

When the tell-tale humid smell began to tickle Wolfie’s nose, those three were always his priority.

“This is my Hyrule,” Wild announced, though lacking his usual enthusiasm when taking note of the weather. Tapping through the slate, he said, “We’re in the Finra Woods.”   
  
“How far are we from civilization?”    
  
Wild smiled sheepishly. “...Far.”

Twilight pursed his lips, looking around uneasily. The portal had divided the group into who knows how many groups. Wild, Hyrule and Legend were with him at least, but there was no sign of the others.

“Highland Stable is that way, around a two hour walk from here. It’d be a good place to regroup.”   
Wild stood up from where he was tapping on a moss-covered log and pointed south. 

  
Legend and Hyrule nodded in agreement, packing their own things from the ground. It was not particularly dry, but not too muddy either- given how often it rained in Wild’s Faron region, that was just another omen. When the three boys had finished packing, they turned to Twilight still tittering in place. He hadn’t moved a finger,

“I’ll try to track down the others, you guys go ahead,” Twilight said, rubbing the back of his neck. He looked directly at Legend while speaking, trusting the Veteran to get the boys to safety.

Legend nodded, but Wild and Hyrule looked at each other worriedly. “Are you sure you want to go alone, Twi?”

“Positive.”

They still look apprehensive, but the Veteran successfully nudged them along. Once they were out of sight, Twilight turned tail and ran. His hand wrapped around the Shadow Crystal, and his paws hit the floor.

The rain was approaching fast, but Twilight was plenty fast himself. It doesn’t take long for him to find the familiar scents of his companions. The faint smell of the Captain’s fruity hair products reached his nose easily enough. He hops over loose roots and rocks, letting his scent guide him as the forest blurs together. Soon, he’s standing a bit dizzily in the blue and golden blur of his friends.

Warriors’s wary eyes came into view as Twilight’s vision focused. The Captain stalked forward hesitantly, before recognition flashed through his face.

“You came looking for me, Wolfie?” Warriors smirked despite his cooing, “You big softie!”

Twilight considered knocking the bastard down on his ass, before deeming him not worth the effort. He instead gently bit into the hem of his tunic, and led him along, all the way to the edge of the woods and down the path to the stables. By the time Wolfie had left, the Captain had started fidgeting, cracking each knuckle on his burned hand over and over again.

After that, he chased the sea-salt smell Wind carried, before finding Sky’s familiar pumpkin-patch scent and Four’s half-burnt trail. By the time he was done, it had begun to drizzle. Against his will, his ribs and sides began to ache. That would have been his queue to transform back and run for it. But Time was still out there in the woods, and he was not about to turn his back on his mentor.

Not ten minutes after he’d gotten Four to safety, it began to rain.

The scars criss-crossing his ribs were aflame once again. His paws slipped on the mud, and before he knew it he had a snout full of grass and a tail between his legs.

He got up again, spitting into the dirt as best as he could with a snout. The cold was quick in seeping deep into his bones. He needed to find Time. If the old man couldn’t find shelter soon, he’d be attacked in the middle of this pouring rain, the one Twi could barely see over. Farore, he could barely see. He was knocked one way or the other by the downpour. He began to tremble.

Was he panicking? Goddess, what a stupid thing to panic about. It’s not like they’re in incapacitated by the rain they’re just-  _ hurt _ by it. Twilight hates seeing his brothers hurt. 

A whimper escaped him. He needed to calm down.

Twilight was lucky, quite lucky, that his scars were all hidden beneath his tunic. His sword arm was almost completely smooth, not a line in sight except for a long gash along his shoulder. Almost every scar he sported had been earned in wolf form, hidden by his fur or the layers of clothing. No one could  _ see _ them, and for that, he was very, very lucky. They wouldn’t worry about his aches, because to them, he had none to speak of. It meant he could look after the others, and they’d let him. At this point, Twilight was convinced that was why Hylia had sent him on this quest to begin with.

His fur was soaked, his cold nose freezing by the minute. He picked himself up, allowing himself to limp as he walked away. The rain- it had picked up speed and strength, the downpour slamming into him hard enough to knock off his balance. His sense of smell is practically useless now, and he can’t hear anything over the downpour. On step in front of the other. He does his best to walk through the cold, the ache, the pain. It seemed like a useless effort. That is, until he saw a flash of gold out of the corner of his eye.

“Oh, pup.”

Twilight doesn’t know how he managed to catch such a soft, fond and worried sigh. Perhaps his already heightened senses increased at the sound of his mentor, ignoring the roaring of rain in his ears. Time leaned down and wrapped his arms around the massive beast, lifting the wolf into his arms with incredible force yet little effort. One hand came to rest against Wolfie’s ears, scratching that special spot reassuringly.

“Let’s get you to safety, Twilight,” Time said, and marched on.

Twilight considered transforming. But if he did, his clothes would get just as soaked as Wolfie’s fur. Plus, as he curled up into Time’s chest tighter, his tail moving to tuck itself under his mentor’s arm, he realized this was enough to keep his warmth. There was no point in moving from the safety of his mentor’s embrace.

No point at all.    
  
He didn’t realize he’d fallen asleep until he woke up again at the stable, wrapped in a pile of capes, coats and blankets. He has no idea how they managed to convince the stable owners to allow a beast to rest on their beds. Wind had draped himself over him as he slept, and his head was being cradled on his mentor’s lap. He stirred, just barely, and was quickly shushed and soothed. As he once again laid to rest against the cotton and silk, he was thankful for this chance at sleep through a rainy day.


End file.
